I breathe in the fresh air, rippling through wildflowers and rustling the lake’s surface. We observe the meadow, dotted with white-fleeced sheep grazing peacefully in the sun. I point to a group of cows lazily shifting in the grass. ‘Nice neighbours!’ I laugh.
James extends his arm to me, and together we walk along the rugged trail, admiring the expanse of sky above us. Out of nowhere, a fox appears from its hiding place, its yellow-goldeyes gleaming with a wild glint. It lets out an almost human-like laugh before darting away and disappearing back into the shrubs. A dark figure stands alone atop the hill, her face obscured by long tendrils of black hair whipping around it.
James waves his arm in recognition and calls out, ‘Moya!’
But instead of coming to meet us, she shrinks back from view.
James takes a deep breath and turns towards me. ‘You’ll meet her eventually. She’s not been herself since Mick died.’
As we make our way towards the house, I feel the weight of my unanswered questions about my mother pressing against me with each step.
A gruff voice bellows, ‘What do you think you’re doing here? Get out!’
James and I startle.
‘Speaking of neighbours,’ says James as he holds up his hand.
I turn to see a scruffy middle-aged man standing with a pair of large dogs, who are barking viciously as they tug on their leashes. He glares first at James, then me, brandishing an enraged fist in the air. But the man’s face slowly turns from angry to suspicious.
‘Ah it’s you again, always bringing trouble, O’Connor… Are you bringing more waifs and strays? We thought we’d seen the end of that malarkey when Mick passed. He was at least responsible for them, and they minded their own business.’
James lowers himself to crouch in front of the dogs, rubbing their bellies with both hands. In an instant, they switch from snarling beasts to docile bundles of fur, eagerly awaiting the scratches that James provides. ‘I understand, Dom,’ he says. ‘But this isn’t what you think.’
Dom makes a dismissive noise. ‘And what do you know? That place is now a doss house. Parties with loud music, alcohol,drugs and all kinds of immorality. I confronted them last night. I said that next time I would show up with a shotgun.’
I inquire, ‘Is it the people in the woods?’ This must be who Stephen had been referring to with such contempt in his voice when talking about the eco-warriors, suggesting they were the cause of all the destruction and disorder at the house.
Dom shakes his head, still looking at me with a little suspicion. ‘No, those folks are fine; harmless hippies if you ask me. It’s some of the local gangs from neighbouring towns, always searching for vacant properties to use for their bad business and dirty work.’
James stands there, arms folded, intently listening to what Dom has to say. ‘Well now, you’ll be pleased to hear—’
But Dom continues talking without paying attention, his voice rising in pitch. ‘I never sleep with both eyes closed, and I always have my pitchfork handy. There’re all sorts of creatures roaming the area. I can hear them stirring, like pests. I will not wait any longer for this alleged benefactor. My petition to the council is on its way – that place needs to be razed to the ground, demolished before it brings the whole village down with it. I want this to stop, right now, O’Connor. You hear?’
He has an earthy, musky smell of smoke and general dampness.
As I open my mouth to introduce myself, I notice the man’s right eye begin to twitch.
‘Hi, I’m Daisy Clarke. Nice to meet you,’ I say.
‘Clarke?’ he queries, his gaze narrowing as he turns it towards James.
‘Rose Clarke’s daughter; we found her in London – just in time. Rose has since passed, but Daisy is here now, Dom. We’ve just gone through the paperwork at Dad’s office. Things are on the up.’
Dom’s gaze sweeps over me as he mutters a prayer, blessing himself with a solemn nod. ‘I’m so sorry for your loss – may her spirit find solace in God’s embrace.’ His head bows as he reaches up to make the sign of the cross.
I give my thanks to him, and I suppress an urge to press for more information on my mother; another person who remembers her, another possible clue towards understanding her better.
He steps forward, slowly scanning my features with his deep-brown eyes. ‘Rose and Moya were really mistreated for no reason. They never did anything wrong, but people didn’t take the time to get to know them, so they just assumed the worst because they were travellers – easy for people to tar everyone with the same brush if you don’t know better. But that’s it, small town, small minds as they say…’
‘Traveller? What do you mean?’ I ask.
Dom raises an eyebrow. ‘What do you mean what do I mean?’ He gives me a questioning look. ‘You don’t know what a traveller is? You didn’t know that your mother was a traveller?’ he says, seeming more befuddled than me.
‘Daisy, your mother and Moya both lived on caravans here, on Mick’s land for… well, as long as I remember, and their people before them. You come from a long line of travellers that passed through these fields, worked this land and set up home in Innisfree.’
I nod slowly, trying to process all the information being thrown at me. I glance at James, still a bit confused. ‘I know of travellers, but I’m not completely familiar with what it means.’
‘Travellers are a community of people who move from place to place living in caravans,’ he explains patiently. ‘They don’t stay in one area for too long and often travel the whole country.’ He pauses for a moment before continuing. ‘It can be a hard life, with many laws and restrictions that they must abide by. Butsome choose to leave the travelling life behind and settle down in one area.’
